


Tailspin

by ivynights (incantatem)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode: s05e17 99 Problems, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-12
Updated: 2011-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:56:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incantatem/pseuds/ivynights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coda to 5x17 in which Sam cares and shares and Dean seethes and schemes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tailspin

Tailspin

 _noun. "loss of emotional control often resulting in emotional collapse."_

\---

Dean turns away from Lisa, his temporary insanity of a fantasy, and drives and drives and drives until the road blurs to one long dark smudge before his eyes.

The next two days pass much in the same way, vast stretches of driving in between bouts of research. No sleep. Minimal food.

Dean doesn't yet know exactly how he'll make his bargain, but he has no doubt it will come to pass. It's his motherfucking destiny, the angels have made that much clear.

He’s making a pit stop at a gas station when he’s jumped from behind and the lights go out.

\---

When Dean wakes up, he can't move his limbs.

 _Oh_ , he thinks, _I did it_.

Then he wonders why his skull is so damn quiet, if Michael's riding him around. The angel sure seemed like a chatty sonuvabitch. His head is _throbbing_ , but otherwise it's all quiet on the Heavenly front.

When he does hear a voice, it's one that's way more familiar.

"Dean," says Sam, "I can tell you're awake."

Dean snaps his eyes open.

Sees nothing but gray iron on the walls, on the ceiling. Feels cold metal biting around his wrists and ankles and under his back.

He's in Bobby's panic room. Strapped down on the bench. Just like Sam was not too long ago, for purposes of detoxification.

And Sam's in a chair right beside him, bending over so that their faces aren't even a foot apart. His hair is lank and greasy and he looks like he hasn’t slept anymore than Dean has.

“You listening to me, Dean? Sorry I had to bind you down, but I had to knock you out cold just to get you over here. I'm not surprised if you don't remember it. You were out of your goddamn mind and I'm sure that bump on the back of your brain isn't doing you any favors."

Dean may be locked in tight, but he isn't gagged.

He spits in Sam's face.

Sam narrows his eyes slightly but doesn't comment, just brushes the saliva off with two fingers and wipes it away on his jeans.

"I'm real sorry about this all but I can't let you run off on your own. Cause it'll be the last time I ever see you. That I know for sure."

Dean says nothing. What can he possibly say? There’s nothing Sam would understand. So he just stares up at him stonily and his hands curl into futile fists.

Sam doesn’t seem to mind. Seems he’s got a lot to get off his chest.

He reaches down and pries apart one of the fists, interlocking Dean’s fingers with his own.

“See, here’s the thing, Dean. I wasn’t kidding when I said that the only thing that’s keeping me from saying yes to Lucifer is having you here with me. I don’t do well without you. You should have seen me in Broward County, or, god, after you went to Hell. It wasn’t pretty."

Sam winces and for a moment seems lost in memories. Then he comes back to the present and his grip tightens slightly around Dean's hand.

“Now, I have to tell you something. And you probably aren’t gonna like it, but you need to know. And I haven’t _wanted_ to keep it a secret, it’s just that I didn’t want to put anything more on your plate nor did I want you to get any _ideas_. But it seems it’s already too late for the second part, so I’m gonna tell you now.”

Sam takes a deep breath and holds Dean’s gaze intently. His words don’t waver but his voice is a little nervous.

“I've been having dreams again. Just like before. With Andy, with Max... with Jess. But this time? They're about _you._ And you're not on fire on the ceiling, you're _ablaze_ , Dean. You’re an almighty sword sharp and shining. Nothing more than a tool. I stand there and watch while you grow huge white wings that sweep away fields of people with the force of their every beat. I try to stop you, but you look right through me.”

Dean finds this reassuring.

Sam’s visions always come true.

“Come on, Dean, say something, please. You’ve got to stop this, man. You can’t do this to me. You can't do this to _yourself_.”

Dean says nothing.

“I mean, I told just told you my visions have returned. And I'm not even on the juice!" Sam lets out a single huff of a laugh, more a bark than anything else. "Guess it's just ingrained."

His eyes drop down to their clasped hands, then flick back up to Dean's face.

“I _love_ you. I love you and I’m sorry you don’t think I do. I’ll think of some way to convince you. Just wait and see.”

Dean says nothing.

“You can’t say yes, Dean. You just can’t. You don’t get to. I don’t know quite how you’ve snapped, but you just _can’t_. I know that doesn’t seem fair, but that’s life, isn’t it? _That’s life_ , Dean, and you don’t get to just throw yours away.”

Dean turns his neck as far as it can go, looking anywhere but at Sam’s expression.

“God, Dean, what do I have to say to get a response from you?” Sam’s voice has grown heated and desperate. “Tell you how much I miss you? 'Cause I do. Tell you how good you look, tied down on that bench? 'Cause you do."

He seems out of control suddenly, hand shaking slightly against Dean's own.

"Look at you, sprawled on out there like the goddamn whore of Babylon herself. Think little Leah ever gave it up? After all, she was a preacher's kid.”

Dean tenses. He thinks his anger should be rising but he's deadened to it. It's almost ironic how two years ago, honestly even two months ago, those types of words out of Sammy's precious mouth would have actually turned him on.

But things have changed. Heaven knows it. Hell knows it. And Dean knows it too.

Seems Sam's the only one who's yet to get the message.

Sam sighs. “Sorry. That isn't helping anything.” He gets up from the chair and moves till he’s planted himself back in Dean’s line of sight. “I’ll go get you some food or something. I don’t know when’s the last time you ate.”

Sam looks abruptly very tired. His brother's lips twist bitterly and Dean thinks about just how long it’s been since he’s felt them against his own.

He heads for the door and then pauses, turning back toward the bench.

“Don't worry, Dean," Sam says, and tears flood into his eyes, "This time I'm gonna take real good care of you." His voice dies down to a whisper. “I’ll prove it to you. And we’ll figure out some way out of this whole mess. You’ll see.”

Sam spits out shit when he's upset. His emotions fly out of control and he only gets the factual information straight. That's why Dean knows Sam doesn't mean a single thing he's saying, not any part of it, except perhaps for the part about his visions.

After the door clangs closed, Dean rolls his eyes upward and sends out a silent apology to Lisa and Ben and Cassie and Missouri and Bobby, even though he's pretty sure he's aiding and abetting in this little coup, and to Castiel, who’s probably in cahoots with it too, and even to fucking _Chuck_ and the _Ghostfacers_ , and to anyone else he's ever been remotely fond of who's still currently alive.

Sam should have gagged him; Dean opens his mouth and says _"Yes."_

\---

When Michael arrives, the ties can’t hold him down any longer.


End file.
